


To Whom It May Concern

by keraunoscopia



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, SO FLUFFY, sonny is a lawyer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 19:09:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12688431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keraunoscopia/pseuds/keraunoscopia
Summary: Sonny has a problem, and its sitting just outside his window.





	To Whom It May Concern

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of dumb, I'll admit it myself. But the idea popped into my head and I couldn't not write it. Its all fluff. Disgustingly fluffy.

Sonny Carisi has a problem. Or well, really he’s had a problem for a while now. He’s been working at the Center for Elder Law and Justice for approximately three years in the Elder Abuse department. He loves his job, he really does. Its difficult sometimes. Its actually difficult a lot of times. He makes home visits, he teaches workshops at senior centers and churches in the city, and he spends quite a bit of time in the court room, vehemently defending the rights of his clients, cast aside by society, ignored by the criminal justice system. He can’t think of anything quite as rewarding, even if he does end up crying in his car a lot of the time, and slamming books shut a little too hard and breaking pencils because there’s not always something that he can do for them. 

But he spends a lot of time in his office. Its on the twenty third floor of a beautiful building smack dab in the middle of downtown Manhattan. And for the first two years of his work there, he was stuck in a little office with no windows and walls that seemed to be threatening to collapse in on him every time he got frustrated. But he had been promoted to head of the department after his mentor had retired, and with it, he got to move into her sprawling corner office, with a wall of windows overlooking the city. 

It should be a good thing, but really it’s the root of his problem. He sits at his desk, constantly on the phone, speaking with clients and clients’ families and opposing counsel and he’s never really been good at staying in one place for too long, so when he’s on the phone, he ends up walking around his office, pacing, staring out the window. It was four months ago when he first noticed that he could see into the building next to his. He knows what the building is, everyone knows. Its 1 Hogan Place, the District Attorney’s Office. And really that shouldn’t mean much. He so rarely has anything to do with criminal prosecution, clients come to him, seek out their services when the criminal court system has already failed them. He doesn’t prosecute, he files Article 81 petitions, and challenges powers of attorney, he sues people who have exploited his clients financially, and sometimes, when he can, he’ll turn over information to the police, but still, he doesn’t have any contact with the ADAs who agree to press charges, few and far between. 

So, yeah, being able to see into the DA’s offices shouldn’t be a big deal except for the fact that one day, sitting on the radiator explaining to a client for the fifteenth time that he was going to be appearing in court for her the following week and that she didn’t need to be there if she couldn’t make it, he had spotted the most handsome man he’s ever seen in his entire life. He was standing at his own window, sleeves rolled up casually, suspenders cutting across his broad chest. Sonny could tell that the man wasn’t looking at him, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

Sonny doesn’t want to admit how much time he’s spent staring out the window trying to catch glimpses of the man. He’s not usually visible, the curtains are frequently drawn, but not always. Sometimes Sonny can sit there and watch the man at his desk, scribbling furiously, or pacing around the office, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. Sonny can tell when he’s won a case, because he always walks by the window with a bit of a bounce in his step, and Sonny can see him pour himself a celebratory drink at his desk. And Sonny can tell when he’s lost a case, because his shoulders sag as soon as he closes his office door, and he sits on the couch with a glass in hand, staring out the window. 

Sonny has never run into the man on the street, but he keeps his eyes peeled. There’s a chance, they only work one building over from each other, they’re both attorneys, they both end up in the court house at least a few times a week, but Sonny knows they’ve never crossed paths. There are times he’s tempted to seek him out. He knows what floor he works on, what building he works in, he could run over there right now if he wanted to, but what would he say? “I’ve been watching you, through my office window for the past four months. I know I’m a creep but I’m secretly in love with you.” Of course he can’t say that. So he just tears his eyes away from the window when his paralegal pops in to remind him that they have a meeting with a client in ten minutes. 

When he returns to his office two hours later, after his client meeting, and his lunch break, he checks the window again. He can’t even help himself, he always checks as soon as he walks into his office. He can see the coif of dark hair, the back of his head barely peaking over the back of the chair. Sonny sits down at his own desk and starts typing his meeting notes into the client’s digital case file. His least favorite client calls him half way through typing her notes. She’s loud and brash and yells at him over the phone, so he puts on his headset as he tries to explain to her for the hundredth time why she’s not supposed to be emailing the judge’s clerk about her case. “Ma’am, I’ve told you, that’s considered ex parte communication, the clerk sent me another nasty message asking me to make sure you stop contacting her.” He sighs, pacing around the apartment before settling in front of his window again, hands in his pocket. The client starts on another one of her senseless tirades, and he peers into the man’s window again. To his surprise, the man is peering out the window too, but his face is twisted with something Sonny assumes is anxiety, and he wonders for a moment, if the man is about to cry, and then he looks up, catching Sonny staring. 

Sonny is not exactly modest, nor particularly bashful, and so he keeps his eyes locked onto the man until he walks away from the window. Sonny frowns, clearly something is wrong, and even though he doesn’t know what the man’s name is, he wishes he could do something. “Yes, Ma’am, I’ve submitted your answer and the affidavits, yes the court clerk stamped them.” He rolls his eyes at her questions in his ear, “yes, I’ll talk to you next week at the latest.” He hangs up the phone on his headset and walks back over to his desk. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the ruffle of curtains in his favorite office across the way. The man is back, standing at the window, apparently he had been waiting for Sonny to retreat. An idea blossoms in Sonny’s mind, and with a smile, he grabs a blank sheet of paper and his sharpie, scribbling down a big **YOU GOT THIS** before walking back to the window, taping it to the glass. He smiles and waves when the man looks over. 

Sonny can’t tell from so far away, but he thinks the man smiles for just a split second before grimacing and closing the curtains. Sonny just retreats to his desk with a grin on his face. He’s not easily dissuaded. He likes a challenge, and he knows this is just the beginning. 

The man keeps his curtains drawn for two whole days after Sonny posts the note. And briefly, Sonny wonders if maybe he pushed it a little too far, came off as a little too creepy, but then he’s back, standing at the window, apparently on the phone, with his sleeves rolled up and his suspenders like the very first time Sonny laid eyes on him. 

Sonny rushes back to his desk and grabs another sheet of paper. When he tapes it to the window, it reads **Hi I’m Sonny** and he watches the man’s gaze drift to his window, and the sign, and Sonny gives him one of his biggest, cheesiest grins. Even from a street away he can see the man roll his eyes and continue his phone conversation. 

“Sonny? What are you doing?” He hears from the door of his office, and his head swings around to spot Nicole, his paralegal. She’s snippy and sarcastic and Sonny loves her to pieces, even if she shits on him about everything he does. 

“I’m harassing a man in the building across the street,” he replies earnestly with a laugh, and Nicole just grimaces. “Its okay, he’s going to learn to like it.”

“Isn’t the building across the street the District Attorney’s office?” Nicole deadpans. Sonny just chuckles and nods. “I’m not bailing you out when he decides to press charges.” She adds before dropping a stack of files on his desk. “Helena is here to see you by the way.”

Sonny’s face drops, instantly miffed, “I told her I’d call her back next week.” His favorite client, sarcastically of course. 

“Well, she’s here now.”

Almost a whole week passes before Sonny gets the opportunity to stare out the window of his office again. The past few days had been crazy, and he’s ready to pull his hair out. He’s had three hearings, an all day workshop for legal professionals on recognizing signs of elder abuse, and three home visits. The files on his desk tower over him when he finally gets a chance to sit down. Its always busy, they provide free legal services, so there’s never a shortage of clients, but this is a fresh sort of hell. 

He picks up one of the piles of files, intending to move it to the radiator by the window, but he pauses when he catches a glimpse of his illusive obsession. He’s sitting in his desk chair, but it’s turned to face the window, feet kicked up on the window sill, and he’s got a cup of something Sonny assumes is alcohol. Sonny double checks his watch, its only ten am, which means something must be up with the man. 

He drops the stack of files on the radiator and returns to his desk to write another note. 

**You okay?**

He tapes it to the window, but doesn’t really expect a response. Even still, he waits, watching the man until he looks up enough to see the sign. The man shakes his head before spinning his chair back around. 

Sonny wants to be excited that the man has actually acknowledged his presence, but his curiosity and concern about what’s going on, only a building, but really a world away. 

Sonny can’t help himself. The man never writes a message back, never shows any sign of seeing the messages other than a nod or shake here or there, but Sonny keeps taping them to his windows. 

**Good Morning!!**

**Good Luck!**

**You’re going to turn into coffee**

Sonny figures that if the man keeps opening his curtains, then he can’t possibly be that creeped out. Still though, he sort of wishes the man would just write back. Just once, even if it was just to say “leave me alone.”

He doesn’t have time to dwell on the thought though, because Nicole pops her head into his office, and tells him that there’s an emergency with his client. Sonny makes house calls pretty frequently. His clients are elderly, generally homebound in the first place which makes them easy targets. He’s met with the client in question before. She’s a sweet lady, ninety-two but no kids, no relatives except a nephew who Sonny is sure is exploiting her financially, and he suspects abusing her physically. The problem with his job though, is that he’s not a cop. He can’t push her to call the police, can’t push her to press charges. The nephew had withdrawn ten thousand dollars from her bank account only last week, and the bank had called him, concerned, but when he asks her about it, she says its okay. That’s the problem with his chosen profession- far too often the clients don’t want their loved ones in trouble, they make excuses, “I was going to give him the money anyway.” He hears it far too often. 

But all of that doesn’t prepare him for what he finds when he visits her this time. There’s dark purple and blue bruises on her wrists, and on her cheek and around her eye. She’s shaking, just sitting there in the chair, and Sonny makes her a cup of tea before trying to figure out exactly what’s going on, because she hadn’t explained to Nicole over the phone, only asked if Sonny could come. 

“Mrs. Baker,” he starts, sitting down across from her after handing her the mug of tea. “What’s going on?”

“M-m-my,” she stutters out, and Sonny’s eyes soften. He’s always had a soft spot for the elderly, but his clients break his heart almost daily. “My nephew was here, he w-w-was so angry.” Sonny frowns, but he isn’t prepared for her next statement, “h-he raped me.” 

Sonny snaps his pencil in two with one hand, just from gripping it too tightly. “Mrs. Baker I’m so sorry,” he starts gently. “Did you call the police? Did you go to the hospital?” She shakes her head no, and he frowns again. He’s glad that she trusted him enough to confide in him, but this beyond his scope of expertise. “I’m going to call them, okay? We need to report this.” She looks worried, but nods. 

“Will you stay?” She asks. 

“Of course.”

Its forty-five minutes later when the police finally arrive, they introduce themselves as Detective Rollins and Amaro, and Sonny explains the situation at the door before allowing them inside. 

“Look, I’ve been working Elder Abuse for the past three years, I know you guys drop the ball on this shit all the time, but she’s not lying,” he says sternly. He’s seen way too many legitimate cases get left by the wayside by police, and there’s nothing he can do about it, usually. 

“I don’t know who you’ve dealt with previously,” the blond detective caveats, “but we’re Special Victims Unit, and we take these sorts of things very seriously.” 

They speak with Sonny’s client for a while, but insist that she come down to the precinct after she tells them where her nephew works, and the male detective calls in to someone to go pick him up. Sonny offers to drive her himself, and the detectives seem to be okay with that. “Do you think this is going to end up with charges?” Sonny asks the detectives as Mrs. Baker collects her things, slowly and methodically the way most old people do.

“Its not our call, really,” the blond detective shrugs her shoulders. “But my Lieutenant said that our ADA is at the station, so you can talk to him about it when we get there.” Sonny just nods. 

The station is a quick drive away, and he explains the legal process to Mrs. Baker as best he can remember from his Criminal Procedure class back in law school. She’s still shaking in the seat next to him, and he has to bite back tears. His sisters did always say he was too soft for this kind of work, but he can’t help it. 

The detectives introduce him and Mrs. Baker to the lieutenant, Benson’s her name, and he files that away for future reference. If this pans out, he might have a go to next time another one of his clients is in a dire situation. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with Mrs. Baker alone,” Benson explains, and Sonny cranes his neck to check with the little old lady. She nods, apparently comforted by Benson’s gentle tone, and they leave him standing in the hallway. 

He folds his arms across his chest and leans against the wall, not sure what to do while he’s waiting. “Mr. Carisi,” he hears the blond detective call and he looks up for her voice. His mouth falls open when he sees her, walking side by side with a face that’s all to familiar. “This is our ADA, Barba,” she gestures to the man next to her. 

_The man._

The man who’s face Sonny sees in his dreams sometimes, the man whose office is one floor down and one street across from his. The man to whom he’s been writing window messages for the past few weeks. Now, there’s no street, no panes of class between them, and frankly, he looks just as surprised to see Sonny. 

But he gathers his composure first. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barba, I’m Sonny Carisi.” 

“You…” Barba’s eyes are still wide, like he can’t believe Sonny is actually a real person. 

Detective Rollins looks confused, and with a raised eyebrow, just backs away, retreating to her desk. Sonny just explains the situation with Mrs. Baker like nothing’s weird between them, explains that he’s an attorney at CELJ, explains his relation to the case. 

Barba falls into stride and they discuss how to proceed when another detective arrives with the nephew Sonny recognizes. Barba excuses himself, and Sonny ends up driving Mrs. Baker to the hospital. 

When he finally arrives back at his office, its nearly nine pm, and he works plenty of late nights, sure, but with everything that has happened, he’s particularly exhausted. Still, with a small smirk, he can’t seem to help himself, and he tapes what he assumes will be one last message to his window. The lights are all off in the building next door, so he’s sure that the man- Barba, he corrects himself, won’t see it until morning, but either way…

**Let me take you out.**

When he arrives early the next morning, he almost doesn’t want to look out the window for the first time in five months, but Sonny is nothing if not curious. To his disappointment, the curtains are drawn, and he has no view into the office. 

But then he sees it. A piece of paper taped to the glass. With perfect handwriting…

**Okay.**

And Sonny spends the rest of the day beaming.


End file.
